


Mistletoe

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Humor, POV Multiple, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), References to Norse Religion & Lore, just the dusted people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-01 04:54:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14512977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Post-Infinity War. The people who were dusted wake up in a new realm, and try to work out what's happening -- and, importantly, how to get home (and/or kick the shit out of Thanos). Meanwhile, Valkyrie and Korg are transporting a ship of Asgardians to Vanaheim, and Loki's just woken up in the maw of a giant serpent.Good times.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter Parker woke up in an ornamental water feature, choking for air and fighting to find the surface. He only worked out that it _was_ an ornamental water feature once Drax reached in and grabbed him out, cheerfully proclaiming that if he needed to vomit, then that was an acceptable course of action. 

Peter did need to vomit, and there was something weirdly comforting about Drax being the one to pat him hard on the back and tell him it was better out than in; as if someone hugging him and telling him it was okay would break him, but Drax’s commentary about what Peter must have eaten to produce a mighty vomit in those colours was… bearable. 

The other Peter — Space Peter — was going off like a firework. 

“And the last time I checked,” he was saying, “we were all crumbling to dust on a _desert planet._ ” 

“It might have been a moon,” said Mantis. 

“Moon. Whatever. After _someone_ just _gave_ Thanos the green glowing rock.” 

“The alternative being that Thanos took the time stone from our corpses,” said the wizard, who was sitting in a cross-legged pose with his eyes closed, right on the meeting-point of nine twisting stone paths. 

“You don’t know that!” 

“I saw more than a million possible futures,” said Strange. “Trust me; even giving it to him, there was a good chance we’d be corpses. Especially given that you decided to punch him in the face in this particular run of events.” He didn’t open his eyes. “Peter Parker, are you all right?” 

“Y-yes,” said Peter, shivering, brain trying to latch on to exactly what had happened. No-one else seemed to be wondering why they seemed to be in an orderered landscape, complete with ornamental water features and paved roads. “Yes sir.” 

He felt something heavy settle on his shoulders, and was about to yelp and brush it off, but then he realised it was Strange’s wizard cloak. 

“Where are we?” asked Mantis. “I do not like to concede that Quill has a point, but this is definitely not where we were. And we are not made of dust. I remember turning into dust.” 

“If you’ll stop talking,” said Strange, “I’m trying to work that out.” 

“I thought you saw more than a million possible futures,” said Quill. 

“Yes,” said Strange. 

“Then where are we?” 

“Anywhere of a hundred thousand possible destinations, if this was the path we trod,” said Strange. Around Peter’s shoulders, the cloak gave him a comforting squeeze. He squeezed a handful of its fabric in return, and realised with horror just how badly he’d left Mr Stark. In retrospect, he’d been pretty scared. 

 

In retrospect, Mr Stark had been too. 

“I am glad I am not dust,” said Drax, as if he could read Peter’s thoughts. “Although if I were dust, I would float into Thanos’s lungs and choke him from the inside.” 

“You and me both,” said Quill. “Okay. So it looks like I’m the leader from here, being the only one left who is an actual starship captain…” 

Strange’s eyes flew open. “I know where we are,” he said. “We’re on a branch of the world tree.” 

“No,” said Drax, pointing. “The trees are over there. We are on the ground, with a pleasing water feature and large uninhabited building nearby. We are not on a branch.” 

“Not literally on a tree,” said Strange. “It’s a cosmic metaphor.” 

“Oh,” said Mantis. “Drax does not like metaphors.” 

“You say ‘metaphor’, I say ‘lies’,” said Drax, nodding. 

“But how did we get here?” asked Peter. “We were all just crumbled into dust, right?” 

“Energy cannot be created or destroyed,” said Mantis, inclining her… antennae…toward him. “Perhaps we were just moved to another dimension.” 

“It takes a vast amount of energy to move multiple people into a pocket dimension. Even more to create a pocket dimension and make it stable,” said Strange. 

“As much energy as destroying half the sentient life in the universe?” asked Peter, as in the distance, a flock of birds wheeled overhead. If this were a pocket dimension, and to be honest he had no reason to doubt an actual live wizard, then it was pretty well set up. 

“You have a point,” said Strange, and then, without fanfare or pronouncement, he fainted. 

___________

Valkyrie knew that Heimdall was gone when the powers of the gatekeeper took her full to the chest, pushing out her breath, making her shudder with the force of the magic. It was like being hit by a missile; one that only she could see and feel. 

She’d known Heimdall had named his successor, but no-one had thought that — well, succession would be so swift. 

“Bro?” asked Korg, leaning over and taking control of the shuttle — the shuttle she’d been piloting through an asteroid field as they attempted to find a way into Vanaheim, to see if the Vanir would help the remaining Asgardians. Which involved going the back way, through the metaphorical roots of Ydragsil, and past the entirely non-metaphorical giant serpent that guarded the way through. 

“Something’s happened,” she said, magic thrilling through her. “Something’s happened to everyone left on the ship.” 

It took everything in her not to wrench the controls from Korg’s hands, turn their escape pod back — but she’d agreed, she’d sworn to Thor, that she would act in the interests of Asgard by getting half their people _out_ and safe. But she could feel, along with the magic, the pain of the people on the ship, a great gaping hole in her awareness where the rest of the surviving Asgardians should be. Was this what Heimdall had experienced, all this time? Was it how he’d always known where they were, and who needed his help? 

No wonder he’d always been grumpy. 

“Ah, right,” said Korg, softly, as he handed back the wheel. “Are you okay, then?” 

“Yeah,” she said, because she had to be. 

“Miek,” said Korg. “Can you take over here?” 

“I’m fine,” said Val, as Miek came squeaking up to her. “I’m _fine_ , Miek. We continue with the mission.” 

“Okay,” said Korg, but he reached out a big, rocky paw, putting it on her shoulder. “But watch out for that asteroid. It’s snuck up on us while we were having a moment.” 

“Miek,” said Valkyrie. “Go and get on the laser cannons.” 

Miek squeaked affirmative, and seconds later, the asteroid was blown out of the sky, exploding like a firework, all pretty and pink and red and blue. 

“Ah, awesome,” said Korg, and then, “Oh shit, there’s another one.” 

“Miek…” said Val, and they were back into it, all three of them working to take the Asgardians safely to a new home. 

_____________

Crumbling to dust wasn’t pleasant, but it didn’t hurt — it was more an uneasy, queasy feeling, the familiar light and breeze of Wakanda replaced by darkness, and then replaced by — where? T’Challa stood, surveying the landscape. 

“Where are we? This is not Wakanda,” said T’Challa, looking around. “It is not even Earth, by my reckoning.” 

He’d thought, for a second, he was talking to Okoye, but when he looked around, she wasn’t there. But there, by a patch of red and white wildflowers, was Wanda; and there was the Falcon; there was the White Wolf; and there was — 

“I am Groot,” said the tree, kicking a rock. “I am GROOT. I AM Groot.” It turned and looked at him, and seemed almost to sigh. “I am Groot.” 

“I see,” said T’Challa, for want of something better to say. The sky was purple, and it almost reminded him of the place of his ancestors, but not sufficiently to say he knew where they were. 

“Wanda,” said the Falcon, stepping toward her. 

“Thanos killed him,” she said. “I — I destroyed the stone, but Thanos killed him anyway.” She looked lost, like a young child, but only for an instant. The next instant, T’Challa took an instinctive step back. “I’m going to wipe him from space and time itself.” 

“Wanda,” said the Falcon, again. T’Challa realised that they’d _all_ stepped back in that moment when Wanda’s anger had gripped her, red and visceral, a warning sign too big to ignore. 

“Wanda,” said the White Wolf. “Where are we?” 

“What?” she asked. 

“Did you bring us here, or did Thanos send us here?” 

“She did not bring us,” said T’Challa. 

“How do you know that?” the White Wolf asked. 

“Because we are not all present,” he said. “By my count, there are many who fought alongside us who have not come too — and I cannot believe that Wanda would have left Vision.” He surveyed their surroundings; the grassy plains, star-apple trees, inexplicable roads leading to the distance. This was like home, but it was not home. “Thanos pledged to destroy half the life in the universe. It stands to reason that we are the half who were not spared, given that we do not appear to be in our universe.” 

“So this is heaven?” asked the Falcon. 

The White Wolf snorted. “Doubt it.” 

“I am Groot.” 

They all followed the arm? branch? of the tree, to where it was pointing to what looked like a settlement — like an advanced settlement, a beautiful golden dome reaching out over the trees, spires and towers and eerie quiet, like this place had been created and then left. 

Wanda was still glowing red. T’Challa was starting to wonder if this was a problem. 

“My king!” 

A group of warriors ran toward them, across the grasslands. They were disparate, some of M’Baku’s men, some of Okoye’s women, all people that T’Challa knew and recognised, all of them showing strength above fear. T’Challa acknowledged them silently, and turned again to the quiet settlement. There should be people visible from this distance, walking between the buildings, making their way from place to place. There was no-one. 

“We strike out for the settlement,” he said, as three children ran from the grasslands, two supporting one between them who was sobbing in — terror? Pain? He turned to recieve them, the sobbing child wailing for her mother.

“Little ones, do not disturb the king…” began one of the Dora Milaje. 

“I’ll deal with them,” said the White Wolf, beckoning the kids to him. “What’s happening, Ayo?” He bent, and picked up the crying child. “We’re all here, aren’t we? Your king is safe. We’ll find your mama.” 

“What’s _she_ doing?” asked another of the children, and they all turned to see Wanda, who wasn’t just glowing red, she was radiating it like a small sun, staining the world around her with it. A shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun, making the red of Wanda’s power glow even more brightly than before. 

“Wanda,” said Falcon, warningly, placatingly. 

“I’ll destroy him,” she said, turning to them. “I’ll—” 

It was at that point that a hawk the size of a rhinoceros swooped from the sky and grabbed Wanda, the red light going out like a snuffed candle, the bird’s battle cry echoing from the distant mountains. The warriors went from alert to attack in an instant, but the hawk climbed to the sky faster even than the Falcon could fly, faster than eyes could follow, faster than magic. 

The mood amongst them was even darker, then — after the pained apologies of the Falcon, after the warriors had retrieved thrown weapons. After Wanda had disappeared into the purple vault of the sky. 

“We make for the settlement,” said T’Challa. “If there are people here, or if this place is abandoned, then we can use what we find to discover where we are, and how to get home.” 

His warriors bowed, and pulled into formation. Behind him, T’Challa heard the Falcon speaking to the tree. 

“Groot. Do not make me get several of these very nice and very dangerous people to carry you.” 

“I am Groot,” said the tree, somehow verbally conveying an eye-roll. 

“Groot,” said T’Challa. “Fall in.” 

“I am Groot,” Groot grumbled, and sort-of fell into their small group, as they jogged towards what was potentially civilisation. 

_______________

“Ah,” said Loki, when he woke up to discover that a very large serpent was chewing on him. “This is new.”


	2. Chapter 2

The stars collected themselves into something like branches outlined with starlight, made with the dust of nebulae, shining against eternal darkness as if lit from within. The hawk had flown for what felt like days — passing out of the bubble of the realm that Wanda had been summoned to, like flying from Wakanda back to the world at large, but not, because where Wakanda’s beauty merged into that of the continent around it, the bubble of space that held everyone Wanda had left was just that, a bubble in the interminable dark. 

She tried to summon her powers, but the arm-ring that the hawk had clamped onto her as it picked her up in its huge claws held her magic, just as the bird held onto her. They ascended through gigantic branches, higher and higher, until they reached the hawk’s aerie, right on the top of the tree. 

Only. The hawk wasn’t big enough for this nest. It gently placed her on her feet, and then flew on, up and up, until Wanda realised that what she’d taken for interstellar darkness was an eagle the size of… a building. Or a planet. Or, when she turned her head, a normal eagle. The possibilities cascaded through her thoughts, and she found herself shaking her head, trying to resolve them into something comprehensible. 

“What are you?” she asked, putting a hand up to the arm-ring, still clamped tightly over her flesh. 

“I am Veðrfölnir,” said the hawk, from where it had landed on the head of the eagle. “There is a new realm on the branches of the World Tree. I was sent to stop you from destroying it before it even had a chance to take root.” 

“Take root,” said Wanda. 

“Like mistletoe,” said the hawk. The eagle bent its huge beak toward her, and from its position between the eagle’s eyes, the hawk regarded her. “Your magic is powerful.”

“I wasn’t going to destroy—” Wanda began. 

“You were,” said the eagle, its voice like continents shifting. “You want to tear the mad Titan apart.” 

“That’s not the realm,” said Wanda. She probably shouldn’t talk back to a giant magical eagle — but then again, what did she had left to lose? “And the things he stole— from me, from others—” 

“Yes, yes,” said the hawk, impatiently. “And you’d have torn your way through the universe to get to him, thereby bursting that reality like a bubble.” 

“And what does that matter?” she asked. “If it’s so new, then no-one will miss it.” 

“Only the people inside it when it bursts,” said Veðrfölnir. “Little sister, you are under the impression that I want to harm you. I want to help you. The tree can be a place to learn, but there is a price.” 

“I’ve already paid everything I had to give,” said Wanda. “And I didn’t _learn_ anything, other than that I will always lose.” 

Veðrfölnir laughed, sounding for a moment more like a raven cawing than a hawk’s sharp voice. “There is always something left to give. And there is always something learned, whether you see it or not.” He eyed her as if she were a rabbit, or a mouse, something small and helpless in the beak of a raptor. “Little sister. If you want your vengeance, then it will have a price.”

“I’m not going to trust you,” said Wanda, her fingers slipping over the warm metal of the arm-ring. 

The hawk tilted his head. “That,” he said, “is probably for the best.”

__________

Drax carried the wizard, surprisingly gently, so that the cloak could stay wrapped around Peter. It had flapped off him, wavered, and then Drax had lifted Dr Strange like a child. “You keep him warm,” said Drax. “I will carry this one.” He’d fallen into step beside Peter — Peter could practically feel the cloak keeping an eye on its wizard, and Drax keeping an eye on him. “Was that your first battle?” 

“What?” asked Peter. “Uh, no. I’ve been in lots of battles. Many battles. I’m a badass warrior.” 

“Then it was the first time you thought you’d died,” said Drax. “There is no shame in it. Many warriors are unwell after their first brush with death.” 

“I’m still not real sure we _aren’t_ dead,” said Peter. 

“Me either,” said Mantis, who had been the one to put her fingers to Strange’s forehead and pull away in alarm at whatever was going on inside his head. She hadn’t wanted to talk about it, which meant that on the inside of Strange’s head, there must be some freaky shit. 

“Real cheerful,” said Quill. “We’re not dead, because we’re here to have this conversation.” 

“Then where are the others?” asked Mantis. “Are _they_ dead?” 

The horror hit Peter again, and he would have stopped dead if not for the cloak gentling him along. What if it hadn’t been Peter who went, but Mr Stark? And everyone on Earth — MJ, Aunt May, Ned, Pepper, everyone? 

“No,” said Drax. “They didn’t turn into dust. We did. Therefore, we are the dead ones.” 

“And what about Gamora?” asked Quill, quietly. “If we’re dead, and we’re here, then why don’t we have Gamora?” 

“We will get her back,” said Mantis, putting a hand on Quill’s arm. 

“From the dead?” 

“There’s a time stone,” said Peter. “On the gauntlet. It can reverse time.” He pointed at the motionless Strange. “I saw him use it.” 

“So all we have to do it get to the gauntlet,” said Mantis. 

“I think we should get to civilisation first.” Drax didn’t even sound out of breath. “Then we can find Thanos, and the gauntlet.” He turned. “And this time, you will not be the one to confront him.” 

“What?” asked Quill. “Why?” 

“Your actions had a direct negative impact on—” Drax began, oblivious to Mantis giving him the _shut up_ signal, “— the failure of all of us here to contain Thanos, and the stones, and therefore had a direct link to the death of half of everyone in the universe.” 

“You punched him,” said Peter, in the silence that followed. “Even though we told you not to.” 

Silence reigned, as they made their way down the path toward the building. It looked — well, it looked like Rivendell, from the _Lord of the Rings_. There were twining, delicate columns, stonework like something from a dream, water flowing around the buildings and delicate trees, with wispy, glowing leaves. 

“Wow,” said Mantis, as they passed beneath a stone arch, and up to the stairs, which seemed to lead to an landing and entry into the building. “It reminds me of this one planet that Ego — um, that Ego— went to? And definitely didn’t kill anyone?” 

“It’s empty,” said Peter. “There’s no-one here.” 

“Well,” said Quill. “I guess we’ve got out new base of operations.” 

“But what if there’s no-one here because…” Peter’s imagination began to run. “Because it’s haunted, or there’s a monster that only comes at night, or because it’s _full_ of chestburster alien sacs waiting for us to wake them up?” 

“It’s all new,” said Quill, as they stepped onto the landing. He was right — there was furniture there, fit for a king, and draperies on the windows, and couches big enough for all of them — and none of it was dusty, or rotten. It was like stepping into a showroom for elves. 

Drax put Strange onto one of the lounges, as they all looked around. Shouted _hellos_ got no reply; nor did trying for an echo off the balcony. The place was simply deserted. Peter tested his suit, which was really the worse for wear, by swinging off the balcony and into the treetops, and then onto the ground. 

There, in a grove lit by the trees themselves, was a pedestal. On the pedestal was a large stone bowl, filled with dark liquid. Like the _Lord of the Rings_ , Peter thought, and he wondered if it were possible to plagiarise a planet — or if Peter Jackson had somehow seen this place in a vision, or a divine flash of inspiration. He stepped up, and looked into the bowl. 

Clouds parted, and he _saw_. 

“Um, guys,” said Peter, calling back up to the balcony. “You’d better come and have a look at this.” 

___________ 

The realm containing the afterlife for thieves, adulterers and oath-breakers was full. _Really_ full. It seemed that almost everyone stole, fucked who they shouldn’t, and broke oaths these days. There were thankfully less murderers, but there were enough that Loki could jam a serial killer into the maw of the snake, and wriggle free to make his way out into the roots of the world tree. 

There were ways to move between the realms; ways and means that were not as simple and direct as bifrost, but twisted and turned and… he caught sight of his arm. His flesh was blue. Not Jotun blue, just — a dusty, hypoxic blue. Well. He was actually dead. 

So that left him with a problem. 

He climbed up onto one of the roots, anyway, through the fine, dusty beginnings of the tree, to where he could rest against its mighty base, at once an oak the size of a universe, at once a tree that something small like Loki might be able to climb. He could look for Valhalla, he supposed. There had to be a way into Valhalla now that he was dead. He was about to start off when he heard a noise like thunder, and Ratatoskr descended the tree. Loki pressed himself to his niche, and watched the giant squirrel take its messages to the great serpent, and an idea began to form; just the seed of something, the acorn that could overtopple towers if he let it. 

A small part of him wondered how he’d made it here. Did the realm of the dead have its own bifrost, its own highway of dead things that led from the world to here? He remembered — Thor. He remembered the death of Heimdall. He remembered Thanos’s hand, the power coursing through it as he crushed Loki’s throat. 

And he remembered, in those last flickering moments of brain activity, Thor’s tears, and an explosion that reverberated through the realms as it scattered the Asgardian dead. There would be no riders to collect them. There was no realm to be king of, and Loki — Loki remembered reaching for an idea of Asgard , half-invented, half-remembered, as the darkness closed in. 

And then he’d woken in the maw of the serpent. 

He could never go back to Midgard, or Jotunheim — not if he was dead. And he could never go back to Asgard, because it didn’t exist anymore. Which left Valhalla, which he’d never find from the bottom of a tree. 

The squirrel chattered to the serpent, somewhere below his feet. He’d never find Valhalla from here — but up, up and up, he’d be able to see forever. Oh yes. All he had to do was hitch a ride.   
____________

Korg was more relieved by the appearance of Thor on the communications screen than he was, perhaps, willing to let on. 

“Are they safe?” 

“Oh hey,” he said. “Yeah, we’re all safe.” He looked closer. “New eye?” 

Thor seemed to take a breath, something passing over his expression so fast that Korg couldn’t catch it. 

Thor’s voice caught, when he spoke next. “Have you attained Vanaheim?” 

“No,” said Korg. “We just got through an asteroid belt. You ever flown through an asteroid belt? It’s full of asteroids. Doesn’t leave much time for accurate navigation.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Val says we’re on track.”

Thor sighed. “Good,” he said. “But my people; I must ask—” 

“What is that and how do I get one?” asked a voice behind Thor, and a furry snout came into view. 

“Be quiet, rabbit,” said Thor. “Korg. It is important; was anyone taken from the ship?” 

“Taken?” asked Korg. “Like, alien abduction?” 

“Like, crumbled into a pile of ash,” snarled the furry guy, who definitely wasn’t a rabbit. Korg had seen rabbits. This guy? Not a rabbit. 

“No?” said Korg. 

The tension broke, then, and Thor bowed his head. “I had feared the worst,” he said. “That after taking half our people, then he would take half again.” 

“Thor?” asked Valkyrie, from behind Korg. She swatted Korg’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you wake me?” She took the co-pilot’s chair. “What happened? Why is Heimdall…” She seemed to take in Thor’s expression. “What happened after we left?” 

“It fell apart,” said Thor, and the furry guy was about to say something, but even he seemed to realise that Thor needed a sec. “Thanos completed the gauntlet. Heimdall is dead. Loki is dead. The others on the ship—” 

“I know,” said Valkyrie. “Heimdall’s powers passed to me. But I don’t know how to open a gate.”

“You just need a handle or something,” said Korg. “Or a latch. A key?”

“Don’t take the piss,” said Valkyrie. 

“Well, has the gate got a handle? Or is it more one of those gates that you push? We could always try to barge it in, yeah?” 

“I do not think that’s how it works,” said Thor. “But a handle — a tool — that could be the key. If Heimdall has passed the responsibility of Gatekeeper to you, then we must give you a fulcrum and a place to stand, so that—” 

“I could open a door between worlds?” asked Valkyrie. 

“And that door could take us to Thanos,” said Thor, grimly. “I have failed to kill him twice. I will not fail a third time.” He ran a hand over his face. “But first, Vanaheim. You will see my people safe, Valkyrie.” 

“Of course I will,” she said, gently. “Thor—” 

“You must understand,” he said. “Half of the sentient lifeforms in the universe are gone.” 

“What?” asked Valkyrie. 

“What?” asked Korg.

“Thanos took them. They crumbled to dust where they stood.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense,” said Korg. “What about shuttle pilots? Or power plant engineers? Or people in the middle of a really important basketball game? Did he…pick?” 

“Yeah, he picked,” said the the not-rabbit. “He picked to get his ass handed to him.” 

“We do not know how people were chosen,” said Thor. “But Earth is in disarray — there are many missing, and as you said, many who were completing vital tasks when they…left.”

“So are _you_ safe?” asked Valkyrie, softly. 

Thor laughed. It sounded like the laughter that some guys had had when they got into the arena and were faced with death — not a laugh of mirth, but a laugh because if you didn’t, then you’d have to cry.

“When we’re in Vanaheim,” said Korg, “you’ll come join us, and we’ll have the biggest piss-up wake the universe has ever seen.” 

“I will hold you to that,” said Thor, and behind him, someone spoke. “I have to move on. The communication device has a queue.” 

“Bye, then,” said Korg, as Valkyrie went to say something else, and the communication feed snapped off. “Well, shit.” 

“Shit,” she said. “Half the universe? That doesn’t even — where would they all go?” 

“Maybe they didn’t,” said Korg. “Maybe they’re just cosmic dust.” 

“But—” said Valkyrie. 

“Oh yuk, imagine if there was a dust storm made of people?” asked Korg. 

“Don’t ever say that again,” said Valkyrie. “He’s struggling, isn’t he?” 

“Yeah,” said Korg. “Big time.” He brightened. “But then again, last time he got beaten down, he, like, exploded everything. So he might do that again.” 

“Maybe,” she said. 

“You should get some more sleep,” he said.

“This time, wake me up if Thor calls,” she replied, and he nodded. 

They were in clear space now, but they’d need Valkyrie at her best if they were going to get past the serpent that guarded the roots of the world tree. To be honest, Korg had thought it was all a load of shit, mostly because the planned route had come from Loki, but Loki also claimed to have used Ygdrasil to get back to Asgard that one time, and Thor seemed to believe him, and there was no real turning back now that half the universe was dust. 

“Dust,” he said, to himself. “What the actual fuck.” 

____________

The city was empty. T’Challa’s small group had gained members as they’d walked — as people had seen their king, and had come to him for assistance — for sanctuary. He ran his thumb over his ring, and walked on, ignoring Groot complaining about being Groot. 

Eventually, he split the group to explore the city, taking the citadel for himself, accompanied by the White Wolf, the Falcon flying overhead. It was the Falcon who brought back the news of more survivors — walking to the city, looking for someone, anyone, who knew what was going on. 

“Half the universe is a hell of a lot of people,” said the Falcon. “Are we gonna be innundated?” 

“Even if we are, we must help,” said T’Challa. 

“I’m not disputing that,” said Falcon. “But how?” 

It was fortunate, perhaps, that the Wakandans had been the first to arrive at the empty city — there was a clear sense of structure and hierachy, without which, there may have been extreme difficulty between the disparate groups of the survivors. As it stood, people wept in relief when they saw the familiar uniforms of the Dora, and T’Challa set about allocating physical resources — houses, rooms, even food. 

“Should we eat it?” asked the White Wolf, when they opened the cupboards in the citadel’s huge kitchen to find a fully-stocked larder. “I remember fairy tales about — being trapped in fairyland forever if you ate the food.” 

“Persephone and Hades,” said T’Challa, wonderingly, unable to understand what had happened in this place. “But if we do not eat eventually, we’ll die.” 

“I’ll volunteer,” said Falcon. “I’m hungry.” 

“I am Groot,” said a voice behind them, and they all turned to see the tree eating a loaf of bread. 

“Use a plate!” said Falcon. 

An eyeroll. “I am Groot.” 

“I think he’s saying the food’s fine,” said the White Wolf. 

“My king!” T’Challa was immediately alert. 

“Yes?” he asked. 

“There’s a looking glass in the throne room that needs your attention,” said the warrior who’d come to him; the older Ayo, whose namesake had had to be dissuaded from following her around like a duckling. 

“A looking glass?” 

“It seems to be a communication device,” said Ayo. “The boy who is using it has asked for you specifically. He said his name is Peter. He is American — a child — and he says that you’ll know what to do.” She looked at him, oddly. “He is dressed as Spider-Man.” 

“Peter?” asked T’Challa, and then it clicked, a half-remembered name, a conversation a lifetime ago, surveillance and knowledge that had seemed to matter so much before they were here. “Ayo, you don’t mean that we’re getting a call from Peter Parker?”


	3. Chapter 3

Stephen Strange woke up under his cloak, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He could practically hear Wong’s voice — _Stephen, you’ve overdone it again_ — and he didn’t relish it — but he also knew that he had to get up. 

He hadn’t seen what happened in this bubble; cut off from the normal universe, he’d only seen the effects of their actions here, like seeing the ripples in a pond, but not the rock that made them. He knew the beats of the plot, but the specifics — nothing. And his head hurt so much that he thought he might not be able to form coherent sentences to warn the others, even if he did know. 

The cloak cuddled him. 

“I thought I told you to look after Parker?” he murmured. 

The boy had suffered the worst of the transition, his heightened danger sense unable to deal with the collapse of half the universe, and his own premature demise. 

“I’m okay,” said Parker, and Stephen looked around himself properly. He was in a hall that he’d never seen before — high, arched ceilings, decorative scrollwork, velvet-draped couches. It looked like the set for a bad fantasy novel. Peter was sitting curled up on an enormous chair, watching Stephen with tired eyes. “You don’t look so good.” 

“I overdid it,” he said, sitting up with difficulty. “This was inevitable.” 

“Well,” said Peter. “We have some good news, and some bad news. The good news is that we managed to make contact with other settlements.” 

“And the bad news?” 

“Uh. We don’t know where we, or they, are?”

“I see how that might be a problem,” Stephen said. “How are we making contact?” 

“It’s…” Peter said. “It’s kind of weird.” 

“I’m Earth’s sorcerer supreme,” said Strange. “Weird, I can do.” 

Weird turned out to be some sort of mirror communication — in a bowl of water, on a plinth, like in some sort of sword-and-sorcery film. The other side of the water showed the concerned faces of King T’Challa of Wakanda, plus a number of the Avengers group, and what seemed to be a talking tree. 

“Stephen Strange,” said T’Challa. “It is…reassuring…to see you.” 

“And you,” said Stephen, because it was honestly reassuring to see someone else from Earth in this bizarre, empty landscape. 

“There is no good way to ask this,” said T’Challa. “But did you crumble into dust and then wake up here?” 

“Yes.” 

“Ah.” 

“Quite,” said Stephen. “And no, we’re not sure where here is, other than that we know it’s a pocket dimension that is inadequately moored to a branch of the World Tree.” 

“We found a larder,” said one of the others, over T’Challa’s shoulder. “So you’re one up on us.” 

Stephen was intrigued. “Did you eat anything from it?” 

“I am Groot.” 

“He did,” said T’Challa. “There seem to be no ill effects, although I am unsure how we would judge ill-effects.” 

“Fascinating,” Stephen said. “Tell me more.” 

_______________

The squirrel was easy to catch, but difficult to persuade that it needed to take a dead man from the root to the top of the tree; it had business sneaking around each of the realms, and the new realm, the one that had blossomed on an empty branch, where there had been a realm that shone like gold and the rainbow arc of sunlight in water. 

A new realm. 

Helheim didn’t miss Loki, as he clung to Ratatoskr’s fur as the squirrel climbed higher and higher. Loki didn’t miss Helheim, either, as he took in the boundaries of the new realm, thrusting its roots into the world tree — like Ygdrasill, but not of it. Its blue dome sparkled in the light of stars and nebulae. 

“How?” he asked. 

The squirrel chattered, at once large enough to scale the tree, and small enough to bear a person on its back. He didn’t really speak squirrel, but he got the gist — there was a space, then there was a huge burst of energy, then there was this. 

He almost slipped from the squirrel’s back, because a new realm — a soft, unstable realm — was ripe for the plucking, ripe for a king. But Loki had learned. He was patient. He needed to see the lay of the land before claiming the land. 

He threaded his fingers through the ruff of fur on Ratatoskr’s neck, and clung on while they moved past realms and worlds, branches, stars and galaxies, heading for the top of the tree. 

_______________

Groot had never been so glad to see anyone as he’d been to see Quill and Drax and Mantis; they were a bunch of no-fun jerks, sure, but they were his no-fun jerks. 

“Groot,” said Quill, through the magic mirror. “I am so happy to see you.” 

“I am Groot,” said Groot, trying not to sound too sad. 

“I know, buddy,” said Quill. “We’re working on it. The wizard thinks he can probably get us to you.” 

“I am Groot.” 

“Will you all be quiet and let me concentrate?” asked someone who Groot couldn’t see. “I need to focus on the connection between you all and your…tree.” 

“I am GROOT.” 

“Fine, your Groot.” 

Sparks flew, coming from nowhere, just a few embers of nothingness. T’Challa took a step forward. 

“Did you see that?” he asked. 

“I did, my King.” One of the guards tried to herd T’Challa away from the sparks. 

“No,” said T’Challa. “No, I think — Strange, it’s working.” 

“I don’t have enough power,” said Strange. 

“Of course you do,” said T’Challa, and the sparks intensified, blurred, and suddenly became a hole sliced in the air, a hole that — was a tunnel straight to another place. 

“We’ll come through to you,” gasped Strange, and then Quill burst through the hole in the air, and he hugged Groot, and Groot let him, because seriously, screw this place and screw people calling themselves kings who tried to tell him what to do, and screw Gamora being gone, and screw everything. Quill was warm and soft, and Groot rested his head on Quill’s shoulder, just briefly. 

“We missed you too,” said Quill, and then Drax came through the portal, clapping them both on the back, and Mantis, and then more people that Groot didn’t know, but assumed were all mighty Earth Heroes or whatever the guys here were calling them. The last to come through shut the portal behind him, and stumbled slightly. 

“So,” said Quill. “What have you guys managed to work out?” 

“Thanos destroyed half the universe by sending us here.” 

“That’s about what we got, too,” said Quill. “Strange?” 

“I don’t think it’s that strange,” said the metal-arm guy. 

“No, that’s his name.” 

“Oh,” said metal-arm. “Like Who’s on first.” 

“Who?” asked Quill. 

“Who’s on first.” 

“What?” 

“No, What’s on second.” The metal-arm guy seemed to be waiting for a response that wasn’t coming. “Forget it.” 

“Have you communicated with Earth?” asked Strange. 

“No,” said T’Challa. 

“If you’ll forgive me,” said Strange. “You… you, as King of Wakanda, have access to advanced technology. In particular, your vibranium-based communication device.” 

“I know what you’re thinking,” said T’Challa. “I’ve already tried it. My sister’s technology is good, but it’s not good enough to reach through from wherever we are.” 

“But. The magic mirrors…” said Strange. “If we interface the device with them…” 

“Our witch got stolen by a hawk,” said T’Challa. “Are you suggesting that you could do it?” 

“As it happens,” Strange’s cloak billowed, despite the fact they were inside, and there was no breeze. “I am.” 

Groot watched while the others worked on the magic interface between the worlds, adding beads from T’Challa’s wrist, adding sparks from Strange, arguing about _values_ and _gain_ and shit that Groot really didn’t care about. What he cared about was Quill standing firm and real beside him; Mantis curiously peering over the wizard’s shoulder, Drax interjecting unhelpfully, everyone being together. 

“We’re getting something,” said T’Challa, as Strange concentrated, the magic mirror showing fog, then static, then a blue screen of death, then fog again. “Come on, Strange. You only have to push a little further.” 

Strange pulled back, the mirror going dark. 

“Is he going to disgorge the contents of his stomach?” asked Drax, interestedly. 

“I will if you keep talking,” said Strange. 

Groot felt anger rise, hot and sharp. “I am Groot!” 

“Perhaps silence will be of assistance to the conduit,” said T’Challa, as Quill put a steadying hand on Groot’s arm. “I think the connection will be thready as it is — this is unprecedented.” 

“I am Groot,” Groot grumbled, but the wizard stood straight. 

“Again,” he said, and concentrated hard, waving his hands in some sort of wizard spell. The air began to feel thick with electricity, like it would spark if you touched someone’s hand; like the place could explode if one wasn’t careful. The wizard’s hand began to leak, down neat lines on his fingers, blood spattering onto the bright marble floor. 

Mantis stepped forward, but T’Challa waved her back — whatever was happening, it was clear that they were all going for broke. Groot watched, fascinated, as the fog in the mirror cleared, and became a human girl — a human girl whose smile was like sunshine through clouds as she peered through the mirror and took them all in. Strange stepped back, holding his bleeding hand, the connection stable but washed-out, the distance obvious in the connection quality. 

“Shuri,” said T’Challa, wonderingly. “You’re all right.” 

“Brother!” said the girl. “Oh, brother. I am _so_ happy to see you.” 

_____________

In the eagle’s nest, Wanda dreamed. She was in a labyrinth of glass — or crystal — her image mirrored onto wall after wall, turning with her, running with her, sending her own magic back to her when she tried to blast her way through. 

“You won’t get out that way,” said a voice. “I’ve tried everything to break the walls.” 

She turned, and faced a woman. About her own age, green-skinned, dark-eyed. 

“Am I trapped here?” asked Wanda. 

The woman laughed bitterly. “No. But I am.” 

“Where are we?” 

“Limbo,” said the woman, and then the glassy walls _flexed_. Wanda felt the power flow through them as they moved, and it coursed up and through the green woman; she stepped forward, and caught the woman as she fell. When their eyes met again, the woman was ashen. 

“What—” Wanda began. 

“He’s using the gauntlet,” said the green woman. “We have to stop him.” 

“How?” 

“We have to destroy the stones.” 

Wanda took a stab in the dark. “Are you one of the stones?” 

“You might say that.” The green woman laughed, bitterly. She was getting her colour back. “Don’t worry — I won’t mind if you destroy me. I’m willing to give up everything to stop him.” 

“I feel like I already have,” said Wanda. “And it wasn’t enough.” 

The green woman gave her a sad, sympathetic look. “I get that,” she said. “But life always has a way of kicking you when you’re down. Only thing you can do is keep rising. Keep rising, and know what you’re willing to give.” 

“What will I have to give, to have revenge on Thanos?” asked Wanda. 

“The chance to personally deliver it,” said the woman, and as Wanda sucked in a breath, the crystal dream shattered into a million pieces, and she woke, reaching out her powers into the vast nothing that surrounded the tree. 

_____________

“Oh wow,” said Korg, as the stardust began to coalesce into what was undoubtedly, indubitably a giant structure. “That’s…” 

“…a big fucking tree,” said Valkyrie, as their small transport sped towards its roots.


End file.
